


Cardinal

by liminaloom



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Character Study, Complicated Relationships, Falling In Love, Light Angst, Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Soft Porn, ice and stuff, shitty metaphors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2016-12-01
Packaged: 2018-09-03 06:31:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8701129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liminaloom/pseuds/liminaloom
Summary: Crossing stars and scraping ice; a character study on love. They dance around the point and fall like meteors delivering a wish.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This story deviates from canon on episode 8. Full AN (no spoilers) at the end. Hover over Russian words for their translations (there are only two).
> 
> In astrology, the term cardinal refers to certain signs and a way of being; ambitious, forward-thinking, and brilliant. The textbook definition (besides red birds and certain Catholic peoples): cardinal means "of the greatest importance; fundamental". I plagiarized that from google or something.

__

_❝Love is not a single star,_  
_nor does it belong to a constellation_  
_It can outshine the moon at times_  
_and at times fall into its shadow_  
_Love is frustratingly complex,_  
_and captivatingly simple_  
_But above all else, true love is cardinal:_  
_while it cannot be shaken by the heavens,_  
_it can change the world.❞_

**C A R D I N A L**

Starlight was the kind of thing one admired in photos but rarely in real life. The same could be said of stardom, where an idol was as far away as the sky from a person's heart.

Victor was a prudent man. Very little missed his observant gaze, be it a satellite dancing through the heavens or the minute allure in the step-work of the boy on the ice. Even on the small screen of his phone, he caught it: a spark that could rival his flame.

"You're only ever thinking of yourself." Irina, the poor, strong woman who wouldn't leave his side.

"You want to play for a season, I'll allow it." Father, a bitter man survived by promises.

His mother had been the only one to see him off over the line with a teary voice wishing him happiness.

Yakov was against it from the start. "When you are on the ice again, Vitya, will you be a changed man for the better? That is all I can hope for."

There was very little Victor had need to want for in his life. The one thing was out of his reach by birth, an assigned social status globally accepted as permanent. But he made do, because Victor was a prudent man.

And Yuuri? He was young and fumbling and full of insecurities. A delicate ego that flowered emotional movement in his dance. He was everything that Victor was not, and possibly more. Both intriguing and terrifying, exactly the reasons Victor left for Japan. He went running away from himself and running toward unknown territory. There was nothing else left for him to do. Inspiration was a fickle mistress and Yuuri was an uncut diamond on the ice. He needed pressure and the guidance of a perfectionist. He needed Victor. And while Victor didn't necessarily need Yuuri, what he had to offer would be of use—if he could cultivate that stone into a masterpiece.

And Yuuri would be none the wiser, would never know of Victor's bad intentions, would certainly not comprehend the ways in which Victor would use him. Because Victor was a prudent man, he'd neglect the bigger picture finer details paint—and the mess that they can leave behind in order to create it.

The first catastrophe had been Yuuri's purity. That such a person could still exist in a world, unrefined around the edges and brimming with the salt of cruelty. As if unaffected by these things, he took Victor at face value and just as quickly cast him aside. He made Victor fight to find a place in his life when he'd expected to slide right in and be set on a pedestal. It hadn't been so. Yuuri was a whirlwind of vitality; weak at the knees with anxiety but stubborn and self-possessed. He was an anomaly to Victor, who had always been surrounded by capable people confident of their abilities and good at slight of hand when it came to interpersonal relationships. Not Yuuri, who was exhausting on a good day and incorrigible otherwise.

So when, along the line, had Victor's mind began to change? When did he stop looking at the stars as a canopy and only seen the night? It was impossible for someone like Yuuri, young and awkward and inexperienced, to have any sway on Victor's decisions. Yet now he was ruling them simply by casting a dark gaze reflected by the cold white underneath his blades, on Victor, his coach, his alone.

Victor was used to belonging to the world. It was an escape in essence of responsibility to himself. He focused on monitoring his life through media and the scope of cameras: how to act, what to say, the usual persona of a liar with the charisma to sell it. Somewhere along the way, just as he'd planned, Victor lost sight of who he was within who he was being. A star who had no name in a constellation.

Yuuri had no constellation. There wasn't a universe he could fit into as he was when Victor first took him under his wing. The young skater wasn't young enough, wasn't good enough, to leave an impression that would make the history books as astronomical. But he had the potential, and that was a powerful mathematical component that Victor seized. A perfect chance. Yuuri was the type who could rise to such a challenge: he'd proven himself worthy.

The beauty of living was that it took a lot of effort to build relationships that meant something. They needed foundation, nurturing, and communication. Connection was important. And the hardest part to remove.

"It's a symbol of love, I guess," Yuuri had crossed his arms before the television where they watched a late night Japanese drama by Victor's slightly inebriated request (read: demand) and the star-crossed in a show of an eternal vow to one another had tied a red string from their fingers, linking them together. "Here it's like a belief, or a legend maybe, that when you meet someone you're tied together by a red string of fate. It was destined to happen." He'd blushed a little, embarrassed at having to explain a cheesy low-rated romance flick.

Victor had hummed in agreement and said, "Isn't it true?"

Yuuri fell asleep under the kotatsu minutes before the show ended, head pillowed in his arms, and Victor had watched the slow rise and fall of his shoulders while finishing the last of his sake. Within him the first stirring of attraction, like a pair of magnets that had been controlled in a steady closeness until they rushed to meet, blurred his vision more than the cup he held up to distort Yuuri's slumbering face, glasses removed to spare him from the terrible B-movie Victor put him through. Had the inclination never been there in the first place, would he had been safe? The alcohol would never tell and Yuuri, awake or in dreams, didn't have the answer.

He had poise and stamina, had the finesse of a professional figure skater, but Yuuri lacked something besides confidence. He stumbled his jumps when his feet got tangled beneath him because his head was elsewhere, usually on impressions and reassurances that Victor would still be standing there to receive him should he fail. Which he did. A lot. And surprisingly it was fun. Victor found himself rising and falling with Yuuri, leading him on to pick up his mood and taking him down to see how far he could go and how much he could take; to gauge which method worked. 

Because it wasn't simple training Yuuri became enjoyable as a challenge Victor hadn't expected. He began to let his prudence slip in exchange for ensuring Yuuri found strength of his own, and in his reliance on Victor. He improved rapidly, unable to defend himself against Victor's charms and flirtation, unable to defend himself against Victor at all, really. It was endearing almost to have Yuuri by the heartstrings; and he did absolutely, without a doubt have that boy's love.

For the first time in his life he wasn't sure what to do with it, or with his own feelings that were hard to navigate like the night of a new moon, spotty and overcast and questionable. As Yuuri's trust in Victor grew, and his allowance of proximity between them both in touch and in talk, Victor's resolution lost its redeeming quality and quietly took the back-burner like many things do in life when something more shiny and innovative sweeps across the stage.

"Not seductive enough!" Victor clapped his hands together, stopping the music. Yuuri leaned over his knees, sweat dripping onto the ice and struggling to catch his breath. "Right now you are a mediocre katsudon. You are Mcdonald's quality. Too cheap. Not even sleazy."

"I'll try again." Yuuri straightened his back, a spark of tired determination in his eyes.

"Take a break first, drink some water." Victor beckoned him over to the bench.

"One more time." Yuuri insisted.

Victor would only learn later that Yuuri had a knack for ignoring his advice and not listening to him when he should (and listening to him when he shouldn't).

It had been a revealing practice when "one more time" had turned into several more hours and Yuuri had collapsed onto the bench, wincing when he removed his skates. His feet were red and sore and blistered at the ankles, torn and bloody. He had improved, despite the obvious pain, tremendously that evening.

"Can you walk?" Victor tutted, highly amused.

"Yeah," Yuuri had stood and subsequently sat right back down, biting his lip so hard it turned white. When Victor raised a brow he shook his head violently.

Victor saw the spark dwindle and grow darker, it did not disappear; it burnt even hotter. He'd licked his lips. Carried Yuuri home on his back with his skates bumping at his hips and complaining that rest was just as important and that if Yuuri did this again he'd quit being his coach. It was one of the times Yuuri had listened, even teared up a little at the thought of losing him. Already that had become the strength of their tie to one another.

"I hear you loud and clear, uvazhayemyye." Over Skype video Irina’s voice sounded less obtrusive. She'd called him over and over until he answered. "I'm not coming back any time soon. Must we have this conversation now? I'm busy."

Irina stared him down. "I should think you've become more gentle, but it's starting to seem like you're just confused."

"Whatever you can live with." Victor let his gaze wander to the hallway when he heard a pair of feet shuffling by pause and then keep moving. "I'll keep in touch."

"Victor—"

He hung up. Slid open the door to his borrowed room. Yuuri panicked where he'd been hesitating just beyond the partition of his own room and Victor slid out with a terrible grin, "Shall we sleep together?"

He was received by a door slammed in his face.

The following daybreak had solidified what Victor thought he wanted against what he knew and came here knowing. The lengths he would go to and the boundaries set; whether or not they were fixed or mutable, they were in motion now. And as Yuuri talked and Victor teased the morning star clung to the waking sky, clearing of clouds and suggesting the consequences. Victor leaned back on his palms, digging his fingers into the cold, damp sand and laughed, a real sound that had tears welling in his eyes. He'd forgotten that feeling. Yuuri's flailing limbs and unwitting declaration rung in his ears.

"Just stay the person I know you as.”

Victor would like to get to know that person even better.

When he sat in front of the television with Yuuri's family while he revealed his theme for the season, it struck him that Yuuri had gone and figured out what he was missing. And that tie really had to go.

"This won't do." Victor tugged him into the hall between their rooms and undid his wretched tie, flipping up Yuuri's collar and only slightly enjoying how he was red down to his neck. He might have purposely brushed his fingers over his throat just to see him jump. It took a lot of restraint not to close the gap between them and kiss Yuuri. Now wasn't a good time. He still didn't know his limits. "What was your theme then? Out with it. I heard my name a few times."

Victor didn't know it was possible for Yuuri to blush any harder. He slipped the tie from around Yuuri's neck and smiled when he fumbled over his words. "Uh, er, I chose love, I guess. Cuz my short program is Eros. And yeah, I'm just thankful that you're my coach?"

"Why is that a question?" Victor stuffed the tie into his pocket. He'd have to find a subbed clip later.

"It's not. Totally not." Yuuri amended, slinking backwards ever so slightly. He'd been better with eye contact recently, but right now it was back to square one. Victor let him go, bidding him goodnight, and a few hours later found a video of the press conference on youtube. He chuckled to himself and thought a little better of the world.

Being in Japan had shown him a culture that was based on gratitude and selflessness and that beneath it complex emotions kindled and did not often catch enough air to be fanned. It was similar to his lifestyle in Russia on one hand and completely different on the other. Here there was respect in secrecy. He could relax his inhibitions and project onto Yuuri his own innate worries, which he caught himself doing by accident and couldn't seem to stop. And Yuuri in all his innocence was none the wiser, curse him for it. Something crawled around in Victor and it felt a lot like guilt.

It grew in China when Yuuri made his world consist of only him, captivating more than his eyes that night. Shining with unforeseen elegance, Victor was reminded of the brightest star in the sky, cardinal beside the sun. Venus, the planet of love. Go figure.

And when he took the game too far and broke Yuuri down to sobs, the guilt seized his chest with regret and the realization that he couldn't leave this boy alone now, he didn't even want to. Rather, it was impossible.

When he kissed him on the ice, he couldn't deny he'd planned it—if impulse meant a few seconds of contemplation before tossing logic to the wind. Yuuri was beautiful and the whole damn world knew it and for a second they might have thought that he was his alone and it was only them—in a perfect world at least.

Choice of words and actions in after-interviews meant staging excitement and their constant dealing with the element of surprise. Yuuri didn't know what to do with himself and Victor had him wrapped beneath his arm, grinning like a dog.

That night he kissed Yuuri again, coaxing him down onto his back and touching him wherever he could. They were a few drinks in and maybe that's why Yuuri let him push the boundary and press his chest against him and run his hands lower until they reached a yearning heat.

It wasn't cheap like the other times he'd done this with nameless men in secluded hotel rooms far from the eyes of the public. It meant something, a chance at significance, and for the first time he fell asleep sharing the warmth of another until morning. For the first time he wasn't worried about what it might mean.

Later he would remind himself that he was a prudent man and he should have seen it coming, but while he was prudent, he was no fortune teller.

 

⭒

 

When the ocean was still during the summer and it was a clear night, the stars would shine in the sky as well as in the water, like a mirror. They'd shift with the tides like his mind wound through thoughts, a bit fuzzy around the edges. Back then he hadn't a particular person in mind, and reality felt abstract and distant. When the water turned to ice he could find his bearings, and only then.

Yuuri never did anything without analyzing the numerous outcomes. Most of the time his mind went straight to the worst case scenario and as he envisioned it it came to pass without further incident. But figure skating was his passion, his true love, and he didn't think he'd ever be able to let it go.

Even when he was lost amongst the shining lights obscuring his vision and refracting off the ice like a myriad of stars, he had himself. That was one thing he could never lose even if he tried.

When Victor waltzed into his life it had meant change for him. Terrified and overjoyed, Yuuri could only wonder what the he saw in him: a lackadaisical skater with no outstanding qualities. His idol was right next to him constantly and quickly turning into another human being, no longer distant like the moon that lighthoused the night. If Yuuri was going to be his shadow he had to become someone worthy of it first. He had to fix his eyes on the target without falling dizzy and remind himself that he was a figure skater who wanted the world to see him. But what was the world to Yuuri?

It became smaller day by day the more he wanted to dazzle it, until it was just _him_ he wanted to impress and the world he wanted to change.

 

⭒

 

"A little more," Yuuri groaned, muscles straining. "To the right."

"I know it's cold in Russia." Victor bent over him, helping him with his warm up stretches. "But I'd never think you'd be this cold with me!"

They were currently having an argument. It was mostly one-sided. Yuuri knew he had no right to be acting so childish, but that didn't mean he wouldn't. Victor had taught him many things over the past few months, and amongst them was learning how to deal with Victor himself. Yuuri bent over his left leg, Victor pressing down. It was snowing outside and the heater had only just clicked on in the room.

Victor sighed and went limp, resting all his weight down on Yuuri. He was flexible enough to lay on the floor with his legs spread eagle and take it, but he wasn't happy about it. "Yuuri, let's end this cold war, please."

"Are you sure you should be joking about that?"

The complicated part was that despite everything they’ve been through, they weren't exactly a thing, and Yuuri didn't even know what kind of thing they were supposed to be. Whatever they had going between them was, at best, a complicated coach-student relationship with questionable morals involving calculated affections and Victor's inability to hold himself back from messing with the audience.

So Victor had kissed him on the lips, briefly, exhilarated by Yuuri’s attempt to land his signature flip at the end of his program. They'd embraced on the ice under the eyes of thousands of witnesses. The umpires hoo-ed and hawed. The crowd clapped and shrieked. It was all very PR at the end of the day, and came to mean—to the world, at least—nothing special.

That night had followed a similar strain, Victor had persuaded (because damn, he could be tempting) a slightly inebriated Yuuri onto his bed. He’d slipped cold hands under his shirt and down his spine, pressing the small of his back closer to him. Breath laden with the scent of liquor had huffed in his ear at the embarrassing groan that escaped Yuuri’s lips and he’d hid his face, hot to the ears. 

The next morning they'd woken up hungover, a unanimous decision tacit between them to pretend it never happened. Needless to say, Yuuri vowed never to let Victor, no matter how convincing he could be, woo him into drinking again. By now, Yuuri knew Victor well enough—and vice versa—that they were merely going to skirt the issue out of (in)convenience to focus on the Grand Prix. It would fall under the umbrella of things better left unsaid, left to the imagination.

The flight to Russia had been somewhat awkward, with Yuuri fidgeting and over-conscious of what Victor, the person he admired, his one and only coach, had done to him. And Victor, dark bags under his eyes and rather listless, stared out the window with his chin propped on his hand. They fell asleep leaning against each other regardless.

Yuuri would admit willingly and begrudgingly that he had feelings for Victor. There were a lot of them. Love was amongst, but he wouldn't call it cardinal. There was respect, trust, admiration, anxiety, confusion, excitement, giddiness, anticipation, possessiveness, envy, and a rising streak of competitiveness he wasn’t sure belonged solely to him. The love he searched for was lacking—he'd yet to grasp it—and the closest he'd been was on the ice.

The strangeness between them ended, sudden and by Victor's command (unsurprisingly), when they touched down in Moscow five hours later. He drew Yuuri into his side and smiled at the cameras and pinched his elbow hard enough to make him yelp, earning conflicted stares from the fans awaiting them at the airport. Then he said, “It’s best if we weren’t seen together too much.” And went off before Yuuri could drag their luggage after him, slipping his sunglasses over his face and strolling into the coffee shop across from their hotel.

What the hell?

That had been in the morning. Victor had reappeared at the stadium to train him and then vanished again without giving Yuuri any explanation. The Rostelecom Cup began the day after tomorrow. He tossed and turned in bed, and woke feeling like he hadn’t slept at all when he heard Victor shuffle out onto the balcony. He was on the phone, speaking in hushed Russian and pacing back and forth. Frustrated. Yuuri knew that look—something wasn't going his way. In his half-asleep state he vaguely wondered if the butterflies dancing in his stomach were even familiar to Victor, a smooth operator versed in commanding attention. Yuuri wanted that kind of confidence.

Victor noticed he'd woken Yuuri and raised a brow at him in apology. He said something clipped into the speaker and hung up. Then, out of nowhere and too dazzling for so early, Victor smiled and clapped a hand on Yuuri's shoulder. "Yuuri," he said, "Take it easy this morning. Relax. Sleep in. Enjoy the resort."

"Okay?" Yuuri yawned, reaching for his glasses.

Victor nodded. "Okay. I've got to run a short errand, I'll be back before nine."

Suspicious. Yuuri squinted, glasses still in his hand. Victor looked anxious. He managed a tired lift of his lips. "Don't slack off, please. You're my coach, you know."

Victor hesitated. Was that guilt? It was now. Yuuri's stomach flipped and he swallowed against the lump in his throat. Definitely way too early for this. He got dressed and ate breakfast. Proceeded to get hopelessly lost trying to find the stadium. He wandered, considered calling Victor and thought twice.

He wasn't expecting what he saw. Victor was walking with a woman, tall and gorgeous. When he saw Yuuri, he kissed her on the cheek in parting. She grabbed his hand and squeezed, pulled him back, and planted one on his lips. Then she threw her golden hair over a perfect shoulder and left. By then Yuuri had belatedly realized he'd found his way to the stadium. He'd also found an annoyance, stirring his mood into something sour.

Yuuri took a deep breath and sighed it out. He didn't have time to be jealous, and he didn’t have the right. In fact, he hadn't signed up for this at all. Part of him couldn't deny it was amusing to have Victor fretting over him with his full attention undivided, knowing he'd been caught in the act. It reminded Yuuri just how much he didn’t know about Victor, talented at talking about himself in a manner that revealed nothing.

Yuuri’s feelings could wait, even if he was doubting himself just a little for making love the centrifugal force behind this skating season. He sighed again and pushed Victor off his back. He could do this—he was _going_ to.

"You're surprisingly not anxious." Victor sat back on his heels, dejected, and observed Yuuri's limbering process.

"I'm not calm either." Yuuri admitted, sending him a pouty glare.

"Well," Victor chuckled, lifting his arms in trite agreement. "In this state, I think you can nail your jumps. I'm not worried."

Ever since he’d made Yuuri cry, Victor had been walking on thin ice. He treated him no differently, and that had made the difference clear. Yuuri disliked being viewed as something fragile, but he couldn’t stop a tidal wave when it was a force of nature; and Victor was just that. “This could be bad.” Yuuri got to his feet, jumping back and forth from toe to heel. “I don’t think we should—”

“You’re right.” Victor already knew what he was going to say. “You’re learning, Yuuri, that it’s not just about being on the ice.”

 

⭒

 

Yuuri’s success in China had strengthened Victor’s resolve as his coach and their dependence on one another. The feelings Yuuri harbored for him were a boon in competition and a bane—dangerously so—outside of the rink. He had to be careful with such a delicate heart; Yuuri had no idea the shitstorm of emotions he labeled as love and put on a podium for the world to see and how they could crash and burn in reality, unlike the beauty of a dance practiced to perfection—where there was no room for mistakes. Life had ample room for them. The incomplete metaphor suited Yuuri perfectly (in the most unfortunate way); he would forgive Victor without question. 

Victor had looked ahead and seen the outcome of accepting Yuuri’s love. He'd also pushed him, used that tension between them to up the ante. He was shaping Yuuri into a worthy rival, using him as a means of escape, and stealing inspiration; all this from one untried, unsuspecting, genuinely pure human being. He knew that acting on ulterior motives could be labeled as cruel and that Yuuri would never realize it. Victor dragged a hand down his face. He'd fucked up in China.

Gathering Yuuri’s duffle bag, Victor ushered him out the door and to the stadium. The first practice was successful up to the point that Yuuri made the flip once, distracted by its calling. Victor demanded he only focus on bringing his programs to the next level. Yuri Plisetsky's threatening glares did not help.

"Cheer up, Yuuri." Victor bumped his arm, leaning into him. "You landed it. You'll be able to add it to your roster soon. Now you're getting nervous?"

"I feel like Yuri’s gonna kill me."

"So what? Kill him first." That made Yuuri smile, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "You going to sleep tonight?" Victor asked. "Don't make me drug you—or use another method."

Yuuri blushed and waved his hands frantically. "I'll sleep!"

Victor managed to make Yuuri compromise on sharing a bed under the pretense that he’d sleep better (blissfully ignorant when Victor twisted the logic into his favor). He laid on his side and watched the steady rise and fall of Yuuri's chest—satisfied he was really out—before rolling over and getting his own shuteye. For about two hours. His phone lit up, vibrating softly. Yuuri had bundled himself up into a marshmallow of blankets, completely gone to the world. 

Victor contemplated answering. It was her again. Yuuri's breathing remained the same as he threw on his coat and took the fire escape stairs connected to the balcony two flights down into the courtyard. He re-dialed, phone balanced between his shoulder and chin, slipping on his gloves. She made him wait seven rings before she answered.

"Hello, _lyubovnik_." Irina greeted warmly. "You've broken your promise to see me upon your return."

"I promised to meet you. Once." Victor turned his face up to the overcast sky; a few stars poked through and glittered resiliently. "I’m not home, and not on vacation."

"The boy is another one of your sidepieces, isn’t he? You'll tire of him too. Next season you'll be back and he'll be wishing he was you." She was clever enough to target the apparent problem instead of their actual issue. "You ran away from me."

"This isn't about you."

"At least part of it is."

"That might be true." Victor watched the clouds drift over the moon, a sliver like a fingernail. "I ran out of spark, Irina. And I’ve taken a liking to this coaching shtick. I like coaching Yuuri. It's fun. I've learned a lot. It's more than the—"

"Worry of?" Irina scoffed, stealing the words from him. "That difficult personality of yours has been met well by PR. Here, it's questionable. Doubts are rising. You need to settle down. When will you see your family?"

"After the cup." Victor sighed. “And you know I don’t care about that.”

"We don't live in a beautiful world, Victor." Irina replied, cold, "Your delusions stay on the ice, where you create a fantasy. But that isn't reality." She was sharp. Anyone who looked hard enough could see, in a skewed manner, but did not have the advantage of knowing him so intricately. "You don't want to lose your career, your fame. And if you’re so attached to the boy as you claim, ruin his chances. I’m right, aren’t I? You’re not just using him to make yourself look better."

"Is that a threat?"

"Does it have to be?" Irina laughed. "When you're done playing with him and come back to your senses, contact me. I might be waiting." She hung up.

"Oh, you will be." Victor replied, gripping his phone so tightly the muscles in his hand seized. He stuffed it into his pocket and made for the stairs, glancing up and halting in his tracks. He was being watched. Yuuri was draped over the edge of the balcony, still wrapped in his blanket and staring down at him. His face, cast in shadow, was hard to read. Without waiting for Victor he slipped back into the hotel room.

Victor cursed under his breath and climbed up the stairs. Hopefully this wouldn't affect Yuuri's performance—or, if anything, fueled him to prove himself. Because Yuuri wasn't used to winning, of high hopes held; something trivial could set him off like a ticking time bomb. This journey was far from over. Was it just going to add to the growing laundry list of things they set aside to collect dust? Was that the right thing to do? He used to know, but now the answer had vanished into thin air. Just what did Victor want from Yuuri?

 

⭒

 

Just what was their relationship? Yuuri watched Victor's breath plume as he paced outside, wearing expressions he’d never seen before. Resentment, scorn, a flicker of fear. The person in the courtyard was not Victor Nikiforov, Yuuri’s coach and idol. It was someone Yuuri didn’t know.

He couldn't put a finger on just what he felt and that was how the next morning came with him wide awake to welcome it. He went for a jog before Victor woke up and arrived at the stadium to practice alone. And when Victor finally appeared, he was dressed to the nines as per usual and followed by a group of thirsty journalists. He scooped Yuuri and his mat off the floor and moved them somewhere more private.

Yuuri continued stretching, Victor looming with his arms crossed nearby. His neck prickled when he felt Victor's gaze drop to him. "I know what you're thinking."

"Uhm..."

"Are you going to listen to me today?" Victor uncrossed his arms and crouched in front of Yuuri. "Don't bother with changing your quads, I'm already surprised! What more can you do—" As soon as he'd said it, his face drained of color. He'd issued a challenge.

Yuuri couldn't help himself. He laughed. "I'm feeling okay." He took Victor's proffered hand and got to his feet. "I know my place now." Whatever that meant. Honestly, Yuuri was talking shit—but he was going to own it. The lifted brow on Victor's bemused face only encouraged him.

"Are you sure?" Concern laced Victor’s voice. "You look a little pale." He reached out after Yuuri laced his skates and slipped on the blade guards, pressing a hand against his forehead. "You're kinda warm."

Yuuri was sweating and his stomach was in knots—that was just his nerves, though. He pushed Victor's hand away. "I'm fine." Receiving a frowned moue in response, he stressed, "Really, Victor, you're acting like me!"

"Is it helping?" Suddenly more serious, hand slipping somewhere near Yuuri's wrist, almost touching but not quite. That was the nightmare, the unspoken miniscule distance between them.

"Not anymore." Yuuri wavered and for a moment it seemed like the world had shifted with him.

 

⭒

 

They'd known each other, been in close proximity, for almost six months. In the beginning Victor’s curiosity was piqued, fascinated that a mediocre JSF skater could copy his program so flawlessly. Behind that curiosity was an interest expertly hidden, a desire to feed the fire. He was getting too old to be on the ice competitively, he had obligations beyond his career, and coaching sounded like the perfect excuse to re-evaluate his life. In the beginning, that's all it was.

He should have known better, but Victor, prudent or otherwise, had not anticipated the integrity in Yuuri that was so rare to come by these days. That earnest inability to give up despite all apprehension toward his abilities; his saving grace—grace itself—and that uncanny staying power. Yuuri was born to be on the ice, he was made for it. If he had half the confidence Victor had and a little more wisdom under his belt, he'd be absolutely formidable, and that was what charmed Victor in the end. His heart simply wound itself up and said damn the consequences, your world is going to change.

Victor never had any intention to feel this way towards someone, ever. He’d taken lovers as he pleased and cast them aside casually, so befalling this kind of enchantment for shy, ambitious, careful, aggressive Yuuri Katsuki was not a love he was accustomed to. Feelings ran amok in his chest; a complicated mess of paternal affection, platonic concern, romantic attraction, and unbridled lust. He was having trouble sorting them out, trouble discerning the cardinal emotion stringing him along. That was only one excuse not to press it. He had plenty more.

If Yuuri were not a man things would be different. If Victor didn't have to worry about home. This was no ideal world. Lurking within the question of intimacy was danger that could swing down like a wrecking ball. Did it matter they were living in changing times? Had they changed enough? Twenty-seven years made no difference in the game of love. Victor was screwed. Yuuri was screwed (if he'd let him). Keeping this kind of secret in a world where social media knew what pair of underwear your wore last night (though Victor only had himself to blame for that incident), was surely impossible. And simply for that reason, he had to make an executive decision.

Victor was Yuuri's coach. Over and over he reassured himself it was all for him. It hadn't always been, but that's what it came to be. At some unknown, indefinable point, he set aside his own agenda and dedicated himself to nurture and protect Yuuri as a performer, to shape him into a diamond that could rival the glittering stars.

The teasing and flirting wouldn't stop; it was a part of their rapport. Those close, dismissable touches, he'd allow that much between them. For Yuuri. Of course. Whatever he needed. To win.

 

⭒

 

Yuuri paced the hall of the hotel in his socks, dragging them across the floor. He crossed his arms and uncrossed them. He ran through his programs. Paused, considered practicing, then shuffled back to the door when a guest eyed him quizzically.

He'd somehow de-magnetized his door key. Victor was out drinking again with his old coach and rink mates. Yuuri had declined with the excuse of rest and immediately regretted it ten minutes later when sleep betrayed him.

His phone vibrated in his pocket, an unknown number. "Hello?" He said in English.

"Hello," an accented female voice replied. "This is Mila, we met briefly, I'm with Victor. He's quite wasted. We're at the door of the hotel, would you mind taking him for me?"

He’d been half expecting this. Yuuri would have to go shoeless. "Sure, I'll be right there."

Mila’s face was flushed and it was snowing and she had Victor draped over one shoulder. Slim but strong, and notably beautiful, Yuuri did not envy her competition. Her lips parted slightly when they met eyes and she made a small awkward gesture with her free hand, holding her phone. "He's had a lot of tequila, a bit... touchy feely."

"Did he strip again?" Yuuri asked on a huffed breath, amused. They exchanged Victor’s dead weight and he almost crumpled to the floor. How was it a drunk person could suddenly weigh so much?

"Not really..." that awkward look returned. Somewhat disgusted. "I know there's still some time before your performance tomorrow. But please tell your coach he's being an idiot."

"I will. Sorry for the trouble."

"I'm the one who's sorry." She replied, under her breath mumbling something in Russian. She decided to translate, pitying him. "Lucky everyone else was gone in too. Very lucky."

What was that supposed to mean?

"He's not good at keeping secrets." She shrugged. "I'll keep it, because you're cute."

"Uhm, thank you."

"You're welcome." They parted ways with her stumbling a bit, obviously somewhat intoxicated herself. Yuuri manhandled Victor to the elevator and across the hall. He had to set him against the wall to dig around in his pocket for the keycard. He'd just wrapped his hand around it when Victor shifted, blinking bleary eyes.

"Yuuri? What're you doing?"

"Uh," Just a couple months ago Yuuri would have sprung backwards and stuttered out some sort of justification. Now he was comfortable with this kind of touch, and it bothered him. "I need your keycard." He went to pull it out of Victor’s pocket but Victor wrapped cold fingers around his wrist and yanked him down.

"Need what?" Victor's breath skated over his ear.

"Your, er," Yuuri tried again to pull free but Victor's grip was surprisingly resilient. "You're drunk, Victor." Yuuri could smell it on him. "Let go, please."

"Since you asked so nicely." Victor chuckled. Yuuri quickly pulled the card free, opening the door and dragging Victor inside. It took tremendous effort in which Yuuri tried and failed several times to hoist Victor onto his bed while he just laughed at him without helping, getting his head knocked against the side table and pretending to be mortally wounded.

Yuuri sat at the edge of the mattress catching his breath. Victor finally stopped giggling. "Aren't you going to help me undress too? I can't sleep comfy in all this."

"Do it yourself."

"Aw, but Yuuri—" He pulled Yuuri down by his hood and stopped, suddenly sobered—but only a little bit. Yuuri was bright red, up to his ears. Embarrassed? Couldn't be. He'd seen Victor naked plenty of times. That wasn't even the issue here. His mind swam downstream from rationality; Yuuri was lying askance on his bed with his hands covering his face. The opportunity was golden. Just one movement and he could have Yuuri under him, unable to escape.

"Why are you like this?" Yuuri groaned between his fingers.

"The same to you." Fuck. Fuck it. Victor would regret this later. He rolled over, squishing Yuuri who made a vain struggle and a loud oomph, and propped himself on his elbows over him.

Yuuri's eyes were dancing, trying to find a way out. "Why me?" He said, uncomfortable with Victor's scrutiny. It was a double-edged sword, that question. "I'm not the alcoholic. Are you sure you should be drinking? I mean, I know you're not skating this season. I can't really talk either cuz I binge eat and all, but—and—this isn't, you know, it's not—"

"Just shut up." Victor made his point by kissing him and using his surprise to lick his tongue across the roof of Yuuri’s mouth, earning a choked gasp and squirming limbs.

"Vic—"

Nope. Not yet. Victor tilted his head and shifted a hand under Yuuri's head, deepening the kiss. Yuuri had grabbed the sleeves of his jacket, simultaneously pushing and pulling. It was endearing and not helpful for either of them. He bit down on Yuuri's bottom lip, dragging away slowly, and felt Yuuri's legs tense from where they were trapped between his. How could someone so innocent be so damn enticing?

When Victor slid back, Yuuri unscrunched his eyes. "Hold on," he said breathlessly, "We can't."

"You don't want to?" Victor sat on his knees, a raised brow down at the bulge in Yuuri's sweatpants.

Hands up to his face again, Yuuri sputtered. "It's not that—" Victor drew his hands away from his face, pressing them down onto the bed beside Yuuri's head. "Ugh!" Yuuri was overwhelmed and it was adorable. "You're drunk! It's not _right_!"

"Says who?" Victor grinned down at Yuuri, lips still slick with saliva. He removed Yuuri's glasses and set them on the side table before shrugging off his coat and dumping it onto the floor. "The only one I'm asking is you. No one else." He might be playing dirty, but Yuuri's reactions were too entertaining to pass up. He kissed him again, slower and lavish this time, and was met with a mouth less resistant, more pliant. It took Yuuri a moment to realize he might want to try breathing through his nose, and that made Victor pull back with a hearty puff of laughter, trailing his lips down Yuuri's chin and onto the exposed parts of his neck.

They'd done this once before, and he'd been drunk then too. Yuuri had also been, and had let him without the need for arguments or insecurities. In the back of his mind, Victor knew he was being unfair, but he also _didn't_ know how else to go about it; he didn't want to admit to himself he wasn't strong enough to face his attraction sober. Because sober he'd dismiss it as an unnecessary distraction. Yeah, he was fucking that all up beautifully. And if he kept going right now, he wouldn't be able to stop at touching. All these thoughts careened into his head and straight back out; he was thinking somewhere else.

Yuuri had stopped fighting him, head turned to the side and glaring squinty-eyed at a part of the wall. His chest rose and fell rapidly, body tensing and his grip white-knuckled on the bed sheets. He was obviously caught in an internal battle to give in or resist, and it made him even more appealing. He winced when Victor ran a hand up his shirt, pushing it away and stealing his warmth, and when Victor slid his palms across Yuuri's chest he shuddered, reacting to the cold and to his touch. Growing impatient, Victor turned his attention lower, rubbing Yuuri's straining erection through the fabric of his sweats and eliciting a startled gasp. That had drawn Yuuri back to reality. His hands grabbed at Victor's. "Don't. Really, please, don't."

Victor stopped, holding his arms up. They stared at each other for a moment in silence, Yuuri's face flushed and cloudy. He was upset, disappointed. "Are you..." he searched for the words so as to save himself some humiliation. "Do you..."

"Hmm?" Victor hummed, waiting for the go ahead. He could lie and say he wasn't—still drunk, that is. There was enough presence of mind now, but the bad decision was overpowering. He could be honest and admit he really did want to, but that would be too easy. "Let's take care of this, at least."

Yuuri's hesitation was fleeting. He made a small nod, green light, and Victor slipped his hands into his pants without any more prompting, sliding them down Yuuri's thighs. He'd need some more coaxing, half-hard, half-shy from the inconsistent petting and wariness. Victor licked his lips, gripping the base of Yuuri’s cock and moving slowly at first, enjoying the view. Yuuri had dragged a pillow over his head. That wouldn't do.

"Let me see your face." Victor pulled the obstacle from him and tossed it onto the floor where it couldn't be reached. Yuuri let out a moan in both frustration and arousal as Victor sped up his wrist, thumbing the tip and spreading pre-come to wet it. Just when Yuuri was a quivering mess, hisses through bit lips and a spasming stomach, Victor eased his grip. He ran his cheek down the side of Yuuri's inner thigh, smelling the want and anticipation. Prying his legs apart a bit more, stretching the fabric of his pants still wound at his knees, Victor spit into his left hand and slicked his fingers, smoothing his middle over Yuuri's hole and pressing in. That was all it took to have Yuuri undone, spilling into his hand with a hushed sigh of relief. He trembled, catching his breath, and Victor took the opportunity to press farther.

He didn't get the reaction he was expecting. Yuuri shot up, pale as a ghost, scrabbling to yank Victor's hands away from him. "You can't." His voice was husky and eyes misty with tears.

"Come on, Yuuri," Victor wiggled his finger, looking for the right spot. He didn't find it but Yuuri still shook, hands finding grip on his shoulders to stay balanced in his half sitting position. "Me too, okay?" He sneaked another finger in, rushing himself now because he didn't want this to end. "Relax."

"You can't." Yuuri said again, in a pained breath. "I'm serious, I'm really serious—"

There, he'd found it. Yuuri jerked, head bumping against Victor's, gasped, cursed in Japanese. Victor didn't even see it coming. He held his stinging cheek, wide-eyed and astonished. He'd never been slapped before, though he may have actually been punched just now. Yuuri had pulled away from him, yanking his pants back up and covering himself. His expression was a mix of terrible things; disgust, heart-wrenching, disbelief; eyes downcast and brow furrowed and lips white where he was biting them.

He could blame it on the shock, but he'd deserved it. He spoke before he could stop himself. "You're going to push me away? Like that girl?"

Yuuri stiffened, curled into himself with his hands wrapped around his knees.

Shit. _Shit_. Victor searched for something to fix what he'd just heard snap. An apology would be cheap and useless. He waited for Yuuri to start crying. He could embrace him then, and tell him he hadn't meant it; he was just being salty. But Yuuri didn't cry. He wordlessly got off Victor's bed and climbed into his own, sat with his back to him and cleaned himself up, and then threw the covers over his head and went to sleep. Or pretended to.

Victor had learned something new that night. One hit was all it took to sober him up completely.

What a fool he'd been.

 

⭒

 

Yuuri surprised him once again. He'd seen him frustrated and annoyed and even a little mad, but he'd never seen him angry. Right now Yuuri was angry with him.

It was almost scary. He listened without complaint to Victor's instructions. He listened when Victor told him not to push himself during the competition warm up. He didn't attempt a single quad. His performance was astoundingly mediocre in its perfection and he didn't even look happy when he beat Yuri Plisetsky’s high score and took first place. Everything went in stride. He was utterly calm on all outside appearances and completely unresponsive to anything Victor said.

Well. If only Victor had known that anger in Yuuri was so becoming. He could use that to his advantage. When he knelt beside Yuuri in the kiss and cry and drew his skate to his lips, it had been a promise staged to carry on as they had been. He could still feel Yuuri’s grip on his tie, reminding him of his place. He was no longer the man on the pedestal; now it was the other way around. Yuuri had played his part and mustered up a terrifying, dark-bagged smile when he took first place for the short program and it had fallen flat with an extreme quickness as soon as they were away from the cameras.

So Victor was only half annoyed when Irina was waiting for him during the after party (it would look good on the tabloids at least). She asked to speak to him in private and Yuuri didn't even spare a glance in his direction when he excused himself. Yakov did, with a sour face, and slapped the second glass Yuuri was trying to turn into a third from his hand with a loud, "Enough for you, you skate tomorrow!"

Irina had her arms crossed, accentuating her breasts in the low-cut sweater dress she was wearing. Red lipstick and blue eyes and the undeniable shape of a woman; she had never been the epitome of perfection to Victor.

"Irina," he kept his hands in his pockets, "This has got to stop."

"You haven't been to see your family?" Irina ignored him, breath more frigid than the air between them. She was a woman just as famous as Victor in her own right: an Olympic silver medalist in Dressage. Like Victor danced on ice, she danced with horses; they were both competitive, talented athletes. That's why they'd been thrown together since they were children, with high hopes to join their families.

"Tomorrow." Victor sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He did want to see his mother; his father not so much. Victor had planned to introduce Yuuri to his parents as his young prodigy. After recent events, he was wondering if that would still be possible. "So make it short, please."

"Do you plan to end it?" Irina kept her question vague.

"Do we have to have this conversation now?"

Her tough exterior began to shatter. "Yes!" She cried, "How long are you going to make me wait? I’ve allowed you to have your fun. I haven’t said a thing." He didn't know how to respond; she wouldn't like any answer he gave her. She sniffed, biting back tears. "I'm not stupid, Victor. I already said this. Even if you can’t bring yourself to love me. I'm begging you."

"For me? Or for yourself?" Victor replied, "Just why haven’t you done anything?"

She barked out a hysterical laugh. "So what will it be? Just tell me."

"I don't know yet."

"I'm worried for your future." Irina wiped under her eyes. “Think about your family. Your country. All the people who look up to you.”

Victor left her without another word. When he came back into the restaurant, Yuuri was passed out with his head cradled in his arms. Mila was worrying over him, poking at his cheeks. When she saw Victor she stepped off, "He didn't really drink at all. I don't think he slept much?"

"He didn't." Victor replied with a trite smile, switching to his public persona. "I'll take him back for now."

Yakov clapped a hand on his shoulder and drug him down, speaking in a clipped whisper. "What was that all about? Irina?"

"Not now." Victor said.

"I thought you broke up with her."

"We are still engaged." Victor admitted.

Yakov frowned. "There is a lot of resistance in Russia against this," he glanced over at Yuuri, snoring a bit. "And in our community, Victor. But sometimes a secret is worth it. And," he tightened his grip to the point it hurt, "That one is much better than Irina. For who you are, I already know it. Listen to your coach for once."

"I know, I know." Victor pulled away, rubbing at his arm. "I'm not stupid."

"You are." Yakov shot back. "Count your blessings, me included, for being such an understanding old man. Only for you, I’d say this. Anyone else would be," he drew a hand across his throat, annoyed.

"Thank you?"

"You're fucking welcome, Vitya. So don't fuck it up, or I'll retract that blessing."

"No promises there."

 

⭒

 

Yuuri stirred, yawning, and sat up. The blankets pooled at his waist. He was wearing his sweats and vaguely remembered being carried on someone's back. It took him a minute for his brain to catch up with him. He sighed and grabbed his glasses.

He really didn't want to apologize. Yuuri wasn't entirely sure if he'd been in the wrong or not. He couldn't tell if Victor was actually upset with him. His anger had subsided gradually and left him with something that rattled and shook with uncertainty. Wasn't Victor just toying with him, going along with his feelings to draw the best of him onto the ice?

Yuuri had surprised himself yesterday. He was almost afraid to think he was proud. Victor had been, sort of. Honest as usual, he'd told him what went wrong—but it wasn't a long list. It had simply been: "Technically it was beautiful, but there was no life in your performance. It was completely dead. You can do better than this."

It took all of Yuuri's restraint not to bite back, "I'm pretty dead inside right now." He felt ashamed. Hurt. Still angry, a little. Betrayed.

Victor hadn't even tried to apologize, and then he'd went off with that woman again. Yuuri let loose another sigh. The alcohol had helped him sleep; he felt decently rested. Victor was out cold, ignorant to Yuuri's woes. He left a note and went to the stadium. Only on the ice did a sense of peace rush over him, meditating in his movements until all thought left his mind. Or that's how it usually worked.

Yuri joined him after stretching, glaring at him the entire time. "What was with you yesterday?"

Yuuri flinched, scratching the ice with the flat of his blade. "Uh, well,"

"It was a fluke. I don't know what it was, but that wasn't you. It was bad. You only won because of the presentation points."

"Thanks?" Yuuri really wasn't in the mood to do this right now. "But you, uh, were awesome."

"Of course I was. And today I'm going to kick your ass." Yuri skimmed off to the opposite side of the rink and then seemed to reconsider. He came back and added, "You're taking Victor for granted. Give him back if you're not going to use everything he's got to offer."

"No way!" The words came out before he could stop them and he blushed. "You don't really know—"

"Doesn't everybody?" Yuri grinned; he'd cornered him. "Idiot. You've got a long way to go to convince people you deserve it." Satisfied with himself, he went off to warm up. Yuuri kept his practice simple and confined to his own corner and was just getting hungry when Victor appeared with breakfast and dragged him by the collar of his jacket out of the rink and onto a table in the waiting area for competitors, where many other skaters were doing the same thing.

Yuuri felt a facade forming and it slipped onto his face. Victor wasn't going to win him back over with food.

"So," said Victor. "How are you feeling?"

"Okay." Yuuri replied, digging in.

"You know we're going to talk about it, yes?" They both knew what he was referring to. "After you win."

"And if I don't?" Yuuri felt a stir of nerves already and forced himself to finish eating.

"Then it's my fault."

Yuuri's grip on his fork tightened. "Please don't make me cry before the competition again." It was half in jest. He couldn't help himself. Somehow Victor made him both calm and agitated at the same time.

Victor smiled. He knew it. "I have no intention to. You're only improving."

The praise was unexpected and Yuuri almost choked on his food. He had a million things he wanted to say but they could wait. The crowd was gathering.

"Should I make you mad again?"

"Please don't." Yuuri meant that one absolutely.

"But you were so focused." Victor had his hands resting on his chin, amused.

Yuuri was flustered. "I can be focused. I'm focusing."

"I'll believe it when I see it."

At least the storm had passed.

 

⭒

 

Yuri Plisetsky’s free program was a masterpiece. Nearly a perfect score, not a single missed quad. His movement was like watching fire on ice, dancing and melting into pure grace. Yuuri knew without a doubt he'd won. And Yuri knew just as well. He didn't even bother to cast a glower in passing.

Victor stood in silence. Yuuri wanted to pace, needed somewhere quiet to limber up again. He jumped when Victor spoke. "You're already thinking you failed."

"What—"

"I'm saying your attitude is bad." Victor replied, stooping to his level. He was wearing an expression that spoke of regret and indecisiveness. "A reward won't do it for you. You've got to stop relying on just me."

What was he saying? Was he trying to goad Yuuri again? He knew it wouldn't work, didn't he? "Then..." His voice shook but he managed to hold it in. He couldn't ask. What should I do? Victor wanted him to figure it out by himself. Now, of all times.

"I won't abandon you." Victor pulled him to his feet. JJ’s program was coming to an end and he was next. "Do you think you've still got it in you to surprise me?"

He suggested that Yuuri had reached a dead end. If he wanted to continue, he'd have to find another path. A new one. That what was inherent between them had nowhere to go. It had to change and change again.

Yuuri took his hand, but used his own weight to hoist himself up. "If I win gold tonight," Yuuri said, "Promise me you'll listen to me, and do what I say."

Checkmate. Yuuri fought the blush creeping up his neck. Why was Victor surprised now when all he'd done was take his advice; he’d turn over a new leaf. This was a discovery of self-actualization. His love...

"So it's still there." Victor was pleased. "Alright, I promise. But there's got to be a time limit."

"Just for tonight." Yuuri said. That's all he needed.

He went onto the ice without any more reassurances, separate from Victor. No final encouragement. No pep talk. No instructions. No hope. The hope would come after. Right now, Yuuri had to create it.

And he did. Before, the eyes of the crowd meant everything to him. Before Victor. After, it had been just one blue pair following his every movement. When he was a child, it had been those he pictured. Why was he here? What was he doing? Who was it for?

This desire was nothing novel, but a refreshing glimpse into a mirror wiped clean of steam. No longer cracked and gauzy like the edges of a lingering dream. It was real.

Time simply slowed down. It was Yuuri on the ice and the music alone, cajoling him to wake from the spell. He was the centerpiece of a story that had only just begun, like a train rolling late into a station where a lover waited, alone and afraid.

He didn't hear the screams of the crowd, he could only hear his heart beating. The thrill pumping in his rib-cage. Knowing he was here, magnificently; once the ugly duckling taking flight with a full set of feathers. He landed on the ice, hands fluent in centrifugal motion, curved into himself the fear and power surging through his blood. The music stopped. He exhaled, dizzy. The roar of the audience fell silent in a moment of shock.

"Is it possible to get a perfect score in anything?" The interviewer was beside herself. "Of course not, but Japanese figure skater Yuuri Katsuki has come closer than anyone ever before him. How does it feel to have broken a world record?"

Yuuri still felt out of breath. Victor stood beside him like a steady column, squeezing his shoulder to urge him on. This was a fever dream. It wasn't really happening. It wasn't, right?

Apparently he'd said that out loud, but the reporter ate it like candy. "Even you are surprised, aren't you? Congratulations. We look forward to what you'll show us next."

Reality settled around him like a thick blanket. "Th-thank you. I'll continue to do my best."

It took another hour for the interviews and photo-ops to end, and by then it was nearing nine o'clock. They were finally alone on their way back to the hotel, on foot, when Victor pulled Yuuri's face up with both hands and smiled down at him. "Take a deep breath. Come down from that high a little. You're on solid ground, for the time being."

"Did I..."

"You did." Victor squished his face between gloved palms. "I was crying a little, but you were too distracted."

Yuuri pulled Victor's hands from his face and instead around his back, yanking him into a hug. He didn't care about the passersby or the snow falling heavier every second and dampening his hair. Victor tightened his grip and lifted him off his feet, spinning him in a circle—under startled protest.

"Victor!"

"Just let me!" He replied, "You have gone beyond all expectations, Yuuri. Let yourself be happy, dammit!"

He was. It started out as a hiccup in his chest then bubbled into laughter, the kind that didn't stop once it started and with which tears came in the package. He let Victor half drag, half carry him back to the hotel room and declined any offers to celebrate on both their social media apps. He sat Yuuri down on the edge of his bed and sat across from him on his own, leaning back on his elbows. "It's rare for me to have trouble finding the words. I'd waited for you to beat your own record again and maybe challenge Yurio a little. I was ready for a botched quadruple salchow that was slightly better than last time. But all these words are stupid. They don't have meaning compared to what you've shown me. As your coach, I'm the proudest person alive right now, Yuuri. You did well."

Yuuri was still sniffling a bit, but his eyes were smiling. He rubbed at his nose, pink from the cold and from crying, sucked in a deep breath and sighed it out. "Now I'm really scared." He said, "I don't know if I'll be able to do this ever again. I don't want to disappoint you. But I feel like I have to..."

"Hush. Progress is what counts. Deal with the future when it's the now. Practice and love what you do. Isn't that enough?"

Yuuri chuckled. "That's just so corny."

"No, it's super suave." Victor frowned at him from his recline on the bed.

"You're right." Yuuri closed his eyes, gathering his focus. "And since I won, you're going to hear me out, okay?"

Victor lifted a hand in agreement. "As promised."

There was three feet of distance between them right now, on the hideous floral carpet separating their hotel beds. Victor's socked feet brushed the floor and Yuuri had his curled under him in a pretzel. He unwound them and stood, resolve shaking. Victor merely watched him, patient, eyes hooded with something unreadable. Whether or not this was a good idea; whether or not Victor had seen it coming—Yuuri certainly hadn't mapped the details out in his head for once. Stop thinking, he told himself. Just go for it.

He pushed Victor further back onto the bed, sitting straighter now and looking bewildered. Yuuri wasn't a bold person by nature, especially not in a quiet room with the warmth of someone beside him. He placed one knee on the bed and pulled up the other, straddling Victor's lap with his hands on his shoulders—to keep him from running away, of course.

"I want to do this with you." He chose the words carefully, hating the way his voice came out more anxious than he'd intended. "Just this once. After that, I want to go back to the way it was. I think it's better for both of us." When Victor was silent, he awkwardly added, "Uhm... that's it."

It might have been a more meaningful moment if Victor hadn't burst out in laughter. "Unfortunately," he was still trying to reign himself in, "It really doesn't work that way. You're too cute, Yuuri. I can't take it. You'll be the end of me." Victor grabbed Yuuri by the waist and tossed him down, both of them bouncing on the mattress onto their sides. He rustled Yuuri's bangs, still slicked back and brought their foreheads closer together. "It's not I want to do, it's I want to be. With you. Those are your feelings, right?"

"But—"

"I know I said I'd listen." Victor liked the way Yuuri's eyes flicked to his, back and forth, then down to other features of his face sheepishly. "I owe you an apology. I'm sorry for what I did last night. I'm sorry for being a coward like that. I was really an asshole."

"You kind of were." Yuuri agreed, huffing out a nervous laugh when Victor cuffed him on the ear. "I knew you didn't mean it."

Now was the decisive moment. Victor held Yuuri's heart in his hands, and he could either crush it or free it. Seconds ago he'd still be irresolute, caught up in the fantasy of what could be. Now the depth of the situation sat heavy in the breath exchanged between them. "And for that, I'm sorry as well."

It was hard to watch Yuuri try to hide the rejection on his face, eyes brimming with disappointment and resignation. Every muscle in his body just wanted to pull Yuuri into his chest and hug the anguish out of him. "Yuuri, I am your coach. This is just one obstacle, you're aware of the others. That's why you said what you did."

Yuuri rolled over, turning his back to him. "I don't need you to console me, just be honest if you don't feel the same way. I was prepared for it. Maybe."

But Victor couldn't be honest; right now, all he could do was lie and keep lying to cover them up, one track after the other. "I also want to be with you." He said, wishing he could see Yuuri's face. "I want to protect you and guide you and see you succeed." His shoulders shook, tense. For the first time Victor realized he couldn't bring himself to touch him. "To do that, I can't return your feelings."

"That's right." Yuuri turned onto his back. There were no tears but his eyes were red and he rubbed at them, exhaling a sigh of surrender. "That's why. You promised me you'd do what I said tonight, didn't you?"

Hell and high water was awfully appealing right now. Yuuri was a quick study; he'd used Victor's own tactics against him with impeccable flare. Victor repressed a sigh. "If that's really what you want."

"Why are you the one looking so troubled?" Yuuri asked on the edge of a breath, when Victor's shadow hid the light from his body.

"I'm taking your virginity." Victor replied matter-of-factly. "And you seem to have rather high expectations of me."

"You're supposed to be the confident one." Yuuri shot back, the hint of a sly smile on his lips. Victor denied him the tacit request and pushed his shirt up to his elbows, forcing him to raise his arms so he could take it off.

"You really can be like a devil in disguise sometimes, you know that?"

Yuuri hissed when Victor slid cold hands over his chest and up to his neck, tilting his chin. "I learned it from the best."

Before he could say any more enticing words, Victor gave in and kissed him.

Speech became unnecessary after that, forbidden between them save for gasped names and pleadings. Yuuri keened under Victor's touch, close to release within minutes and whining when he pulled away, trailing his hands under and lower. He prepared him slowly, enjoying the agonized impatience Yuuri displayed in shifting and wiggling, trying to get comfortable when Victor was ensuring that impossibility.

The third time he clamped his legs shut Victor huffed and flipped him over with a demand to sit still, feeling himself harden when Yuuri obeyed without complaints, chest dipping into the bed and ass raised in a picture of submissive vulnerability. A surge of possessiveness slung through him; that Yuuri was his, belonged to him alone, and that no one else had ever—would ever—see him like this.

"You okay?" Victor asked him, rubbing his length against Yuuri’s hole, stretched and wet with thick spit and a mix of their pre-come and twitching like the rest of his body with Victor's whispered question, right into the shell of his ear.

"Uhuh." Yuuri nodded furiously, head buried into the pillow.

"Alright, breathe out." Victor positioned himself and pressed forward, holding Yuuri steady by the hips. He pushed in slowly on Yuuri's exhale and didn't stop, drawn in by the slick heat and Yuuri's hitched moans. He waited until his grip on the sheets loosened before moving, shifting his angle until he found a place that had Yuuri shivering, biting his lips to hold back his voice.

"Let it out, you'll feel better." Victor's own voice was hoarse and he sped up his movement, finding a steady pace to open Yuuri up, to invite him in.

Yuuri let out a choked sob, coughing on his saliva, and reached under himself for his straining erection. Victor took that as a sign to switch positions. He pulled out, rolling Yuuri onto his back and pushing back in before he could protest, instead earning a hot gasp from parted lips, eyes screwed shut and legs falling open to let him deeper. Victor leaned down and kissed his neck, his jaw, and finally his lips, drawing his tongue out and twining with his own.

"Victor," Yuuri wrapped a hand around his wrist, pulling it down his chest. "There, too. Please."

So polite. Victor's chuckle turned into a groan when Yuuri tightened around him, banging his heels against his back in a show of impatience. Victor wrapped his hand around his throbbing length and pumped in time with his thrusts. Yuuri was a mess beneath him, skin flushed and hair damp. His glasses had been tossed away at some point and his eyes were blurry with unshed tears, vision unfocused and hands pressed against the headboard behind him to brace their tandem.

"I'm close," his voice a harsh whisper, back arching when Victor slammed into him even harder. His hands slipped forward and found purchase on Victor's back, dragging him down and pressing their lips together. He bit down, hard enough to draw blood, shuddering as he came with Victor's name on a husky breath.

Victor pulled out just in time, spilling over Yuuri's heaving chest, forehead pressed against his. He was just as messed up, the two of them falling into each other; a pile of tangled, sweat-slick limbs.

"I love you." Yuuri whispered on a catch-breath. "I really love you."

"I know." Victor replied, wrapping an arm around him and pulling him into an embrace. "I know."

 

⭒

 

The next morning Yuuri was true to his word. He was abysmally normal, save for the small bruise on his neck he itched at occasionally. He was so casual in fact that Victor wondered if his confession had been real or if he'd dreamed it in the haze of afterglow.

Yuuri had already packed his belongings and was out on the balcony, speaking on the phone in Japanese with his family and smiling. He looked radiant for a moment, in the sense that nothing dark could touch him. But it had and this was what he'd become.

When he came back inside he laughed at Victor's typical disarrayed morning state and said, "I'll be going back before you. Want to eat breakfast before I leave?"

That's right. His flight was this afternoon. Victor left tomorrow evening with just enough time to swing by home and satisfy his parents.

"Sounds good." Victor shuffled to and fro, brushing his teeth and getting dressed and shaving. When he was done he caught Yuuri dazing off somewhere incorporeal and escorted him off to the lobby.

It shouldn't bother him, but it did. He'd expected Yuuri to be depressed, even if just a little, and awkward. That it would pass with time, eventually, during their short break before the next competition.

It made Victor wonder if Yuuri had really only wanted—only needed—just that from him: a night with the person he idolized all to himself, completely. It made him feel used in the most contrary was possible. He wasn't the one who was supposed to feel this way.

He saw Yuuri off at the airport with a hug and fake tears. Then he hailed a cab and headed home. Not to his empty apartment, but to his parent's old, lavish house. He'd been born into a wealthy family of athletes and was expected to continue that line. With Irina. Something he'd been running away from for a very long time.

His mother grabbed him and pulled him down, kissing both cheeks and crying a little. His father made a gruff hello, but he saw the sincerity in his eyes. They ate and drank wine and made small talk, catching up, until his father decided it was time to get to business.

"You went to see Irina, yes?" He asked, over a cup of coffee. His mother was in the kitchen on purpose, cleaning so as not to be involved.

"About that, I've been meaning to talk with you."

"I know." Said his father. "But a deal is a deal, son. Where is your ring?"

"I don't want to marry Irina." Victor had been preparing for this chat for awhile. Part of the reason he'd spirited himself off to Japan and took Yuuri under his wing was to postpone it. Guilt sat in his stomach and made him feel queasy.

"You're almost twenty-eight. It's long past time you settle down." Patiently, his father didn't argue. "I want grandchildren, don't you, to follow your legacy."

In the past he might have agreed through grit teeth and sold the lie. Things were different now. "How about," Victor tread carefully, "I say I won't marry her. I refuse."

That ruffled his father. "Give me a reason."

I'm in love with someone else? The first thought that came to mind. Victor shoved it away violently. "I don't love her." Truth. "I've still got a full life ahead of me. My family is important, but..."

"But?"

Victor took a sip of his coffee. It was staring him straight in the face, an admission he could never make. Not if he didn't want to be ostracized, cut off, disowned, and hated. What a secret he had to keep; had been keeping until he'd forgotten himself. "I'm sorry to be a disappointment." He pulled the ring from his pocket. Considered a future in which he could have what he wanted without consequence, and then one with those consequences. He set the ring on the table between them. "There's someone else. I may introduce you one day, if things go well. I'm still young enough. A life is ahead of me."

"You've been away from home for too long." His father sighed. "Stop procrastinating the inevitable.”

"You're right." Victor set his mug down. “You want the inevitable?”

His father’s grip on the armrests tightened. "I will not allow you to shame this family."

Victor’s orientation was a trivial truth so long as it remained hidden and ignored. "Whatever Irina said to you—"

"Irina!" His father barked. "The first time you mention her name, the poor woman, and you accuse her? She has said nothing to me—for your damned sake."

Victor let his coffee steam away its warmth. "I'm sorry, father. I can't be the son you want me to be. This is who I am and it's not going to change. Heaven knows I've tried everything to change it."

His father's face reddened in anger. "Leave this house. And when you walk out the door, consider the family you leave behind."

 

⭒

Victor hadn't been this angry in years. When he got back to the empty hotel room he stared at his reflection in the mirror, slamming his fist on the counter. He paced. Threw his things into his suitcase. On the taxi to the airport he dialed Irina. "Listen to me very carefully." He evened out his breathing, a disturbing calm. "I'm ending the engagement. Say what you want to that family, I am no longer a part of it."

"What happened?" Irina’s voice was barely above a hoarse whisper.

"I don't love you. I won't marry you. You know why. My father knows why. So fuck it. Fuck this. Do what you want, Irina. I'm done." He hung up and blocked her number. He tapped his foot on the flight until his leg cramped. He drank a lot of tiny wines. Somewhere along the line above the clouds with the stars so much brighter, solace flooded through him in stages like grief.

When Victor landed in Nagita he looked as shitty as he felt. He couldn't let Yuuri see him like this and he laughed at himself. Here he was, about to run into the arms of the person who had unwittingly flipped his world upside down and shaken all the change out of his pockets, all the dust to make stars too.

His mother would come around eventually. Probably his father too. But if Victor was ever outed, Yuuri would take the blow just as hard. He was smitten to the bone. It wasn't just his own ass he had to cover, and no matter how charming he could be, he wouldn't be able to save them from this one. 

Victor downed an entire bottle of five hundred yen water and hollered rude things at the roaring jet engines nearby, dragging his hands along the chainlink fence like it was a lifeline.

He had a choice to make.

 

⭒

 

Victor chose to be Yuuri's coach originally out of convenience. The pressure was on him to get hitched and grow up. Two things he never wanted to do (and one thing he never could). He'd been intrigued by Yuuri's performance of his program, inspired in the most manipulative fashion. Such a beautiful pretext to run away from his own problems. That's how it had been, and he'd gone with no real expectations. First mistake.

When he hopped off the train and made his way to the Katsuki onsen the sun hadn't yet risen. Light mounds of snow were scattered here and there throughout mist drifting from the seaside.

"He's gone out for a run, I don't even know if he slept." Yuuri's mother said in broken English and offered him breakfast which he declined in his rush. It seemed Yuuri was the one running away now.

"Thanks, mom." Victor unleashed a smile that dazzled her out of her worries; maybe he could find a place here, and acceptance.

He leashed Maccachin and took off in search of Yuuri. Found him halfway up the never-ending steps to the fake ninja castle nursing a scraped knee. His head was bowed but his shoulders tensed when he heard Maccachin bark in greeting.

"Yuuri," Victor had to pause to catch his breath. "Did you run all the way up here? You knew my flight was coming in." In between, important words went unsaid.

Yuuri stared hard at the blood running down his leg, pants rolled up. His hands were scuffed as well, gloves set aside. Victor picked them up and sat beside him, waiting for Yuuri to gather his courage. Waiting for himself to do the same. He lost his patience too quickly. "Aren't you cold? We should go home and get that disinfected."

"Don't want to." Yuuri finally spoke in a pouty tone. "Why'd you come after me?"

Victor heaved a tremendous sigh. "You keep me on my toes, Yuuri. Not really giving me much choice here."

"Really?" Yuuri was still stubbornly keeping his eyes glued to the ground. "You know, I've been thinking. A lot. About—"

"Wait, wait." Victor cut him off, Maccachin whining amidst their subtle argument. "What you're about to say, if it has anything to do with firing me—"

"No!?" Yuuri finally looked up, his reddened face betraying his exclamation. "But for your sake,"

"Oh, enough about me!" Victor surprised himself with his own annoyance, didn't like the shift of glance, an emotional backing away from Yuuri. "Love isn't all about others, Yuuri." He said, "You've got to take care of yourself too. That's the most important thing, because you can't do well by loving others if you don't love yourself."

"I do." Yuuri said, glaring daggers at his bloodied knee. Weaker, "You think I don't?"

"With the way you let me walk all over you, that self-sacrificing tendency is no good. Coming from someone who cares about you." Victor stared out over the view of Hasetsu, reigning in his feelings so that he could put them into words. "I have a confession to make."

Yuuri shot to his feet. "I don't want to hear it."

"Sit down." Victor grabbed his hand and yanked him back onto the step and took Yuuri's face between one hand by the chin, forcing him to meet his gaze. "When I became your coach it was because of my own selfishness. You were the perfect excuse to avoid facing myself when I thought I'd run out of them." He let Yuuri go when he froze in place, a myriad of feelings dancing through through his eyes. "I planned to play around, try something new, take my time ignoring... I've always been doing whatever I pleased. Honestly, I still am now. I didn't plan to fall in love."

Yuuri's face contorted into something both ugly and adorable in an attempt not to cry. "You're the one who's always throwing me for a loop, Victor."

"That's right. So don't tell me you don't need me."

"It seems you're the one who needs me." Yuuri shot back, sniffing a bit to keep his pride intact.

"I do." Victor said. "Can you forgive me?"

"If you say it properly."

Victor reeled Yuuri close, pulling him by the collar of his jacket, and kissed him. "I love you too, Yuuri." He said, "I've been in love with you."

"I know." Yuuri replied, leaning his forehead against Victor's. He released a sigh of relief like a million pounds had been taken off his shoulders. "I know."

 

⭒

 

"Are you sure we can do this?" Yuuri was hopping around on one skate, trying to pull the stuck guard off his other and worrying at his lip in repressed agitation. "If we get figured out it'll be the end. The end, Victor!"

Victor caught Yuuri before he could topple over and sat him down. Music from the arena and the excited crowds filtered into the waiting room. They were cornered away far enough to speak privately, and ever since Yuuri had won at the NHK peace and privacy had been hard to come by.

"It's cute to have you worrying over something so domestic instead of _on your program_." Victor put emphasis on the fact, fixing Yuuri's skate guard and leaning an elbow on his knee from where he knelt before him. "You're naive to think that love gets easier when it's mutual. This season is far from over and you've still got a lot to learn."

"I can't concentrate," Yuuri tried to get up to pace but Victor pushed him back into to chair, using the momentum to stand and lord over him. "It's your fault."

"If you do well, I'll reward you later tonight."

Yuuri hid his face in his hands. "It's because you say things like that."

"We'll face it one at a time, okay?" Victor was glad Yuuri couldn't see the shit-eating grin he was sporting. "You're serious, that's good. This time, let love loose a little. Don't be so stiff. That's what this is about, right?"

"Don't throw the word around so easily."

"Stingy!" Victor called him on it. "I said relax, Yuuri! Or I swear I will propose to you in the middle of the rink on live television."

"You wouldn't."

"Are you sure about that?" Yuuri wasn't sure, Victor could tell by his paling face. "I've learned to live and let live. You've taught me things as well, you know. It won't be the end of the world."

"It might be."

Victor clapped his hand against the wall and leaned forward, startling Yuuri and trapping him in place. "Proposal on ice, or reward tonight. Your choice, Yuuri."

"You're killing me, Victor. I'm dying on the inside a little right now. I'm honestly freaked out about—"

"Your _program_?" Victor cut him off, a forceful smile leering down on Yuuri. "Or should I take you to the bathroom right now and help you release some stress?"

"No, no, no!" Yuuri had a tendency to repeat himself when he was nervous. "I'm gonna practice. Right now."

"That one was a joke. We've already talked about this. We have a protocol now. Annoying, but useful. You'll get used to the spotlight sooner or later. Until then, stop agonizing over it. We’re already known as the coach-skater couple. If anything, that makes it easier to lie.” Victor sighed, pushing hair out of his face. “I swear, I never thought this would lead to you doing so well. Because you’re gaining experience, I guess? Have something else on your mind? Focus on your skating, Yuuri, my threats aren’t idle.”

“I got it.” Yuuri mumbled, swallowing the complaint forming on the tip of his tongue.

“When you’ve made it to the Grand Prix Final, and when you stand on the podium in the middle with the gold, then we’ll talk about what to do next. It’ll be fun.”

“Fun, you say.” Yuuri pushed Victor back, rising to his feet.

“Right?” Victor winced when Yuuri grabbed him by the collar of his suit jacket, taller than him on his skates.

“I expect you to face me properly as a rival one day.” Yuuri said, “If you’re planning to take me that far.”

“Of course.” Victor bonked his forehead against Yuuri’s. “That was my plan from the beginning.”

“I knew that already.” Yuuri pulled away, fixing his hair and turning away from Victor. He’d managed to surprise him again.

“Since when?”

Yuuri laughed, feeling his tension ease. “Really, Victor?” He said, “You’re not the only prudent guy around.”

Outside the stars winked, at home in their constellations. The canopy of the night held their secret shining beside the moon for all to see, cardinal in love.

**Author's Note:**

> Firstly, huge thanks to my lovely soul person otter friend roommate cat-shark, [cosipotente](http://archiveofourown.org/users/cosipotente) for beta-reading! ♥
> 
> I don't really know how the ice skating seasons work and tried to steer away from complicating that process, since this fic is more about their relationship than the sport (I'll leave that to the beautiful show creators, thank).
> 
> I went into this fic with the idea that Victor is a crafty, endearing little shit and that Yuuri is a marshmallow and I'd spit-roast him over and open fire. Luckily it turned out to be a much more mild toasting. There is angst, there is complicated feelings, there is cheese (the kind that comes with corny romance stories). This is not, however, a fluffy story. And I apologize for the cliche plot device I used.
> 
> Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed it! It was a fun project to keep my mind busy from school (kill me), work (burn it), and waiting in between episodes (aghhh!). This is the first anime fanfic I've written in 1039482985 years. Also the first time I've used past tense in just as long. I hope it was decent, and if you saw any inconsistencies or issues, please let me know; I am open to learning from criticism.


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